To weaken the body, remove blood. To weaken the character, remove struggle.

-Musings of the Historian

It took another twenty minutes of walking to reach our destination. I guess the brothers enjoyed their solitude. Their dwelling was a squat, solid stone block of a house. The craftsmanship was quite good, though built for defense more than appearance.

“Our father built it,” the Captain answered my unspoken question. “Back when he was a young man, Marauders from the East would raid through this land. Some men would fight, some would run, some would win, and some would lose.

“In the end, so much was destroyed in the melee it didn’t matter much whether they won or lost. Their homes were ravaged one way or another. My father built stone walls on top of his log home, working with his sword lying next to his tools.

“When he was attacked, he would stand and fight. In the end, I think the Marauders came to fear his sword more than his strong walls. In any event, by the time the house was done, few ever attacked.

“Shortly after, King Stephan brought the clan chiefs together in alliance and formed the Land Guard, a force large enough and strong enough to secure the territory against the Marauders.

“Our father served with the Guard for years, so the stone house went unused until the war was over. He finally retired and came home to find a wife to bear him sons. Two sons.”

By then we were settled inside the dark structure, and Joseph set to work building a fire. He had skilled hands and the fire sprang to life in no time, lighting the solid structure to the corners. It spoke of military men. Everything was in its place, no space was wasted or decorated.

If one looked carefully, one could see edges and handles of various weapons placed around the room, where they would be at hand if something unexpected happened.

I noticed that Joseph never strayed far from one handle or another, always keeping an eye on me. Simeon, however, lounged at ease, having already mentally included me in their plans.

Joseph busied himself around the house and soon I had a piece of bread and a bowl of soup in my hands. Warm food and a warm fire had been all I had wanted less than an hour earlier. Now it was the story that held my attention.

So far, it was the same story I had heard thousands of times. It was the way kingdoms were born out of chaos, order from madness. He didn’t make me wait long.

“King Stephan was a good king, and he conquered when he was still young. He was as good at peace as he was at war, and the kingdom flourished. Our borders grew ever more secure. As our people felt safe, they spread out, they traded, and they loved their king.

“It seems to me that people started to think that Stephan would be their king forever. But even kings are mortal.”

Simeon was a natural storyteller, and he felt strongly about the subject. He paused, a sadness in his eyes, I worried that I was going to lose him to reverie.

“What happened?” I nudged.

“A plague,” he answered simply. “A devastating plague hit our kingdom. It seemed to be random in its selection, but where it touched, none survived. Nothing could cool the fever. Nothing could dull the pain of the suffering.

“We lost our father, we lost our mother, and we lost our King. It was the winter the world ended, or at least it felt like it. Perhaps worst of all, it also destroyed the royal family. The crown prince perished, as did the Queen and all of the children, save the youngest son.”

“Tibian?” I guessed, remembering who the drunk had been toasting at the bar. Simeon nodded.

“Yes, young Tibian, who was only a boy at the time. For years, the kingdom was run by advisers. They manipulated the boy and fought over him for their own advancement and agendas.

“The Land Guard became fractured, torn by infighting. Luckily for us, the Marauders in the East were as decimated by the plague as we were, so there were none to take advantage of our weakness.

“Finally, the boy king came of age and wrested the throne back from his advisers. The Land Guard supported him in this, uniting at last in a common cause. All hoped for better times, a return of Stephan.”

“I take it the boy was no Stephan.” I guessed. The story was hitting all of the stereotypes. The boy king would have been flattered and pampered endlessly by the sycophantic counselors. Such luxuries are ruinous to a young character. Simeon shook his head sadly.

“The palace intrigues and power struggles were over, the King was on his throne. However, it soon became clear how simple his rule would be.”

The Captain paused now. He knew he was crossing the point of no return. What he would say next would be treason, likely far worse than what he had punished back at the inn. He may have hesitated for my benefit. After all, charges of treason were seldom selective.

Just by hearing this, I would be implicating myself, endangering my own life over words I had heard. After a moment’s reflection, his eyes steeled and he pressed on.

“He taxes the people harshly. Those in his inner circle live a life of luxury far beyond what Stephan would have ever allowed. The rest of the people are ignored.

“Things carried on for a while under their own momentum, but the drag of taxes eventually took its toll. Business slowed, crops were left in the field because farmers knew that to harvest them meant to turn them over to the crown.

“That was ten years ago. Things have gone from bad to worse. The Land Guard is now just a collection of different factions. We fight each other almost as often as the Marauders, though that isn’t hard.

“You see, the raids have all but stopped. The attacks that come now have a different feel to them. They are becoming ordered in their attacks, probing and retreating. I think they are testing us.

“There are whispers of a new king in the East, someone who is uniting the Marauders and training them into an army. If this is true, our kingdom is all but lost.

“The Land Guard could never put up a true defense at this point. Most of the commanders don’t even know each other; some don’t even know their own men.”

“So something must be done,” I finished for him. He nodded in agreement and the conversation was over. My eyes wandered to the door, considering the open road beyond.

This was a story I had seen before, far too many times. A young military leader makes a grab for power from a despotic king.

Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. Sometimes the new king was an improvement, more often he wasn’t. I liked the Captain, but it seemed to me that the rest of this story would just be bloodshed. And boring.

Still, I had told him that I would remain with him. Maybe I could witness one more coup. I hoped a more interesting story wasn’t happening just over the horizon, maybe with this new king of the Marauders.

I laid down on the worn cot they offered me and waited until morning. It was a long night. Before sunrise, I heard them get quietly out of bed and get dressed. I remained motionless, “sleeping.” I had found that the best way to avoid suspicion was to not do anything suspicious.

Travelers who finally get a place to rest sleep until something wakes them up. Neither of them had been loud enough yet to give me an excuse to say I had woken up.

In fact, I was quite impressed by their stealth as I realized they had also managed to strap on some hardened leather armor and wrist bands. I also caught a glimpse of some strange looking swords.

I waited until I heard a series of dulls thwacks before I rolled out of bed to have a peek outside at what they were doing.

The two men stood apart from each other in the clearing, strange brown blades flicking back and forth in furious attacks and parries. I tried to get a closer look at the swords, but it was too far and they were moving too fast to get a clear look.

I am an ardent fan of sword fighting.

In my travels I have seen a great many fighters. The weapons have ranged from sticks and stones to reciprocating sonic pulsers. Where there is a weapon, there is a master of that weapon. Any time you get to see a master use his weapon, it is art.

Never is this truer than with a sword. I have seen swordsmen who seemed to dance through the air, the sword an extension of their own body.

They seemed to be completely alone, lost in their dance, as their enemies fell around them, as if in reverence. But that is another story.

Both brothers had skill, though I would have hesitated to call them masters. It was the kind of sword fighting taught to soldiers, used in groups and tight quarters. It was simple, direct, and deadly.

There was no doubt in my mind that there were none in the Land Guard that could have matched them. Of course, I also doubted that any of the Land Guard were up before the sun to train as hard as these two.

They were tireless. The swords clacked back and forth in a steady rhythm as one pressed the attack, then the other. Their breath was white and wispy in the frozen morning air and it puffed steadily above them as if they were two steam engines.

Every now and then, Joseph’s blade would twitch a bit too far in response to some feint or counterattack from Simeon and the Captain would score a hit on his younger brother, tapping his leather jerkin or arms.

In many training sessions I’ve watched, a solid hit such as that would have meant a break in the action before a new round began, or perhaps a chance to go over what had happened and advice on how to do better.

That was not the case with these two. Nothing changed at all when Simeon would score a hit. Joseph would nod slightly, then press forward into another attempt to break past the elder’s wall-like defense.

It made a lot of sense. The last thing you would ever want to teach a soldier is that he should stop when struck. If anything, he should act more decisively than ever to save his life. A pause at the moment of impact would be fatal, giving your opponent another fraction of a second to finish you off.

Whatever the blades were, they weren’t metal. There was no clang when the blades met, and there was no blood drawn when blade met flesh.

The only sign of humanity from either of them was when one sizzling fast attack landed right across Joseph’s knuckles and he yelped. To his credit, he did not drop his sword and even managed to sidestep a follow up thrust.

It occurred to me I had been given my opening. That yelp was plenty loud enough to awaken a sleeping traveler, assuming he slept light. The sun had also risen while the two men were training.

While it didn’t seem to give off any warmth, it did send rays of light into the small stone house. It was time for me to make my appearance.

“Is everyone all right?” I called out from the open door, doing my best to look sleepy. Simeon’s eyes flicked towards me for just a moment, long enough for Joseph to slip his sword point past his brother’s guard and land a light tap on the leather chest plate.

Joseph danced away, a broad smile on his face. Simeon threw him an annoyed scowl, then turned to walk over to me.

“Yes, traveler, everyone is fine. My brother hurt his poor little fingers.”

Now it was Joseph’s turn to scowl at his brother’s retreating back. As Simeon drew closer, I could see the sweat coursing down his face. For the ease with which they moved, the two brothers had been working very hard.

I could see the swords now up close. They were made from some kind of heavy wood. Raw leather had been wrapped and stitched around the blade, wetted, and allowed to dry. As the leather dried, it shrank and hardened, compressing the wood and making it very hard to crack.

It was impossible to tell what other modifications may have been made without a closer inspection, but these practice swords were close to the real thing in balance and weight, more than sufficient to give the men a good training without hurting each other.

At least not too bad, I amended my thought, as they moved closer to me. I could see that the hardened leather had dark stains on it that could only be blood.

Simeon noticed my interest in the sword and misunderstood. He offered me the weapon, handle first.

“If you would like to train for a little bit, it is a good way to get the blood flowing on a cold morning like this. I’m sure Joseph would be happy to spar with you.”

I raised my hands in a warding gesture, shaking my head and smiling.

“I was more interested in how it was put together. I wouldn’t know the first thing about using a sword. I feel that I am too old now to start learning.”

“A man is never too old to learn something new, and the time may come when you might need it,” Simeon insisted, proffering me the practice sword one more time. I shook my head again.

“I’m afraid I can’t. A soldier might sometimes be a storyteller, but a storyteller cannot sometimes be a soldier. If I am to judge your story, I cannot be preparing myself to be a part of it.”

Simeon puzzled over my words for a moment, then shrugged and leaned the sword against the house.

“I suppose we all have our roles to play in what is about to happen. I promise to do what I can to protect you should danger arise, but I hope you’ll forgive me if one day I find my priorities divided.”

“Of course I understand. If you ever had to choose between your brother and a stranger, none would question your choice. However, now that you bring it up, what does happen next?”

Simeon nodded, unsurprised at my question. What was surprising was how fast Joseph snuck forward to listen.

It struck me that Joseph didn’t know any better than I did what his brother had planned. His loyalty had made his stand clear before he even heard the call to battle.

So we two sat in silence, waiting to hear what Simeon would say of his planned future. In a frustrating show of nonchalance, Simeon had turned his attention to removing his training armor and rummaging about for a simple breakfast of bread and cheese.

I looked to Joseph, but he only shrugged. He would wait on his brother, trusting to his wisdom. He didn’t trust me enough to side with me in pressing for information. So it came down to me. I simply had to get him talking and the rest would become clear.

I had seen plenty of military takeovers and the format was fairly straightforward. First, an ambitious man, for reasons that seemed good to him, would gather supporters around him.

This not only served to increase his strength and chances for success, but would also cement in his own mind the righteousness of his cause.

Then came a tipping point. By the time a man had enough supporters to make the coup happen, it was already too late for him to turn back, even if he wanted to.

Since it was obvious that Simeon was ready to move, his supporter base must be broad and powerful. He was no fool, after all. Therefore, this seemed like the perfect place to get the conversation moving.

“Will the others be joining us soon?” I probed. This close to a takeover, there must be daily meetings, at least among the key commanders.

Simeon, however, looked confused, and maybe a little angry.

“What others? If you know of someone else who knows of this and haven’t told me about it, you will regret it, I promise you.”

“No, no, no.” I hurried to reassure him. “I simply meant the others who will be helping you. Surely you don’t mean to move the world with only you and your brother.”

I meant the last bit simply as a bit of a joke to diffuse the tension in the room. Still, Simeon looked fondly at his brother and mused softly.

“I suppose we could try, traveler,” he spoke to me, though he looked to his brother. “You’d be a fool to bet against us, in any event. However, I have thought a long time about this and I do believe we will need another.”

Joseph leaned closer, interested, as I leaned back, flabbergasted. I still trusted my instincts about people and could not believe that Simeon was stupid or insane. Still, he seemed to be talking about taking the throne with three men.

At least, I assumed the third person would be a man, perhaps it was a woman. It seemed I was taking too much for granted recently. For all I knew, the third member was a spirit, or a dog, or a fish. The possibilities were endless when you abandoned common sense.

He had made it clear that his sights were set no lower than the throne, but to try and take it with three men would be suicide.

Even if some miracle of strategy and luck occurred to place him in the chair, it would only last as long as it took for someone with ten men to decide he wanted a turn at being king and threw Simeon off.

I shook my head slightly, symbolically banishing my preconceived notions from my head. It was time for me to admit that I didn’t actually know what was going on. Simeon hadn’t said anything more and didn’t seem like he was going to, but he had managed to capture my attention once again.

With one more look out the window to the distant horizon, I bid it a temporary farewell in my heart and turned myself back into the stone cottage, intent on seeing this story through to its end.

I didn’t have long to wait for my next chapter, only the space of one more meal. When Simeon finished his breakfast, he stood.

“Well, no reason to wait, let’s go see if he’ll join us!”